My Sanctuary
by theCatandtheCow
Summary: I felt as if I were separate from my body, as if I were watching me like some TV show with no control over what I was doing. My mind had just let go. Rated for Suicidal Angst.
1. My Sanctuary

Author's Note: I know, I know... I have another unfinished story and now I'm releasing a new one. I'm sorry! But I have a lack of inspiration for that one! But this... this practically wrote itself! Please don't hate me... I'll finish Stitched Memories as soon as I can get some decent ideas for it. 

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, I desperately wish that I did, but I don't. I do own the poems I wrote! They're mine! No stealing or I'll stalk you and then poke out your eyeballs with toothpicks and electricute you with a toaster in a bathtub! So no touchy the poems!

Summary: I felt as if I were separate from my body, as if I were watching me like some TV show with no control over what I was doing. My mind had just let go. Rated for Suicidal Angst.

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**_My Sanctuary_**

My broken figure lay crumpled on the ground.

I watch with empty eyes as you leave me, walking through the door.

A lump has grown in my throat, preventing me from calling you back.

My heart has been ripped in two and left to the cold floor.

You left me here to bleed inside, the loss of you is too much.

What had I done wrong, I can't recall why you'd gotten bored.

Was my love for you not enough, were we stuck in place?

Tears threatened to spill over as my thoughts hit a chord.

It truly was your fault, for not appreciating what we had.

I'm dying inside as the door slams behind you.

My sanctuary is my mind, driving my thoughts from my broken heart.

You told me you wanted something new.

Something new for you and your pathetic life.

It never occurred to me that it was I who had gotten old.

That you had steadily grown bored with us.

I need someone to love, to hold.

Though I love you, your happiness brings my pain.

I'm dying inside as you walk down the driveway.

My sanctuary is my mind, thoughts drifting to my broken heart.

Every part of me yearns to call out for you to stay.

A sob escapes my trembling lips, for I am now alone.

Your silhouette through my window tells me you've gone.

As reality sinks in, I know you're not coming back.

Reality tells me you're gone.

My tears now flow freely, my mind now blank.

All that runs through it are my mistakes, the way I've failed.

My heart is pierced and bleeding, the pain overwhelming.

You ripped it out and watched as it trailed.

My breath comes in gasps, I just want it to end!

Why does God make me suffer like this? Why?

Suddenly, a realization hit me.

To end this pain your happiness caused me, I have to die.

The blood now pours from not my heart, but my wrists.

The satsifaction feels so good, waves of relief flooding over.

My eyes are swimming, my body aching, but I feel no regret.

To death I'm simply closer.

I'm dying inside as my blood pours out and you stop to watch.

My sanctuary is my mind that's gone insane from loss.

Don't forget me...

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A/N: I'll have this poem again in chapter two, it'll be broken up into segments though. I just thought it would bring more of an impact if I posted the poem first. Okay! Now please read and review! Pretty please? 


	2. Trust Me

Trust Me; Kyle's POV

* * *

_Something's wrong with him..._ I stare at my best friend, trying to see through the act he's pulling. Although he denies it, I can see something is clearly out of place here. _Why can't he tell me? Oh shit..._ I quickly look away, he noticed my lingering stare of probing. For the brief second I saw them, his eyes held concern for my strange behavior towards him, but hidden behind them was sadness and loss. I should ask him. But he beats me to it. 

"Hey, Kyle?" his voice reaches my thoughts and I turn my head to him again, listening. "Is something wrong? You've been acting weird all day."

_What about you?_ I wanted to ask, _You're the one who's hiding something from me. Me! You're best friend! Or... the person who you claim is your best friend._

Instead I shake it off, "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just thinking about the upcoming finals."

_Ooohh... bad move on my part._ I see him involuntarily cringe at the comment. The sound of pompous laughter reaches my ears and I immediately frown. Cartman.

"Hahaha," the fat boy chuckles heartily, "Only a gay-assed Jew would worry about the finals a week before they happen."

I shifted my attention towards him, "Shut up you fucking fatass, normal people worry about finals a month before they occure. If you're waiting until the last minute, then you're even stupider than I thought. Basically meaning that your IQ is smaller than a rock's."

"Ay! I am not fat! A don't go comparing me to some shitty ole' rock!" he shouted, my reply hitting some sort of nerve.

"Yeah, Kyle." came the muffled reply of Kenny, another good friend of mine, "The rock deserves better than that."

We high-fived each other while laughing at the steaming lardbutt before us. It was lunch and I was sitting beside my best friend Stan, who had gone quiet ever since my comment about finals, and across from Kenny who was next to Cartman. The period was almost over, Cartman had finished his three lunches and Kenny his own lunch, Stan had barely touched his food and I was nearly finished. As our laughter faded, Cartman simply grumbled about Jewish fags, irking me, and poor pieces of shit, not bothering Kenny in the slightest. Stan remained nonresponsive, staring with an empty glaze in his eyes at the fork in his hand.

"Shut up, gaywads." Cartman muttered, his eye suddenly landing on Stan's full plate, "Hey, Stan, are you gonna eat that?"

Stan shrugged, "Maybe. Even if I wasn't I wouldn't give it to you. You're fat enough already."

A grin came to my face. Finally! Stan was getting back into the game. I laughed and agreed, patting him on the back and he simply smiled. Kenny applauded him, while Cartman chucked his own fork at him. It missed. This made the fat boy even angrier, spouting strange grunts of frustration and slamming his fist on the table. A regular tantrum of his from the younger years.

"JUST FUCK OFF ALL OF YOU! Escpecially you, you Jewish piece of shit!" he hollered, red in the face.

Stan smirked, "Jesus Christ Cartman, are you on your period or what?"

"Sure sounds like it!" Kenny's laughter sounded from within his hood.

I wasn't laughing, my face was the same shade as Cartman's now, "God! Shut the hell up about me being Jewish, fatlard!"

"Stop calling me fat then!"

"Well, it's the truth!" I retorted.

He fumed, "Ay! It's true about you too, Jew!"

"Nice rhyming," I mocked sarcastically, "Congratulations! You finally got a D- in English, a great improvement compared to all your Fs!"

"When did you start grading me!"

"Since I realized what a dumbass you were, which was the first time I met you, and that I needed to keep track of your failures to rub it in your BIG, FAT, FUCKINGFACE!"

By this time in our heated discussion, Kenny and Stan had left, the bell had rang, and Cartman and I were stuck with two detention slips for that afternoon. I sulked during our next period, every trace of worry and concern for my best friend had left me and replaced with scorn and resentment for the person I hated most.

The occasional glance of wonder would come my way from Kenny, a look of pure hatred from Cartman, and nothing from Stan. For once it seemed like he was actually paying attention in class, taking notes and everything. I smiled in spite of myself. Stan had been having trouble in school, though he tried to hide it we all knew. It sadened me that my best friend wasn't trusting enough to tell me this, which brought me back to wondering what he is still hiding from me.

World History ended and we all packed up to leave, except me and the tub of lard who had detention for the next hour. School ended early on Fridays, we got to go home at 1:30, today it wasn't until 2:30 for me.

For an hour I had to sit next to Cartman, wondering how he managed to squeeze into that desk with all that blubber. My thoughts also wandered to Stan, I couldn't help but wonder what the poor guy had to go through. His family was now dysfunctional, apparently his dad walked out on them when he lost his job and started cheating on his wife, his mom juggles between two jobs and possibly a third one, and his sister beats him up everyday because she blames him for everything. He managed to tell me that much. So most nights he was at my house sleeping on my bedroom floor. 'It's better than what I get at home.' he'd tell me, grinning sheepishly. I don't know what his new house looks like, I've never seen it, but I'm guessing that it resembles Kenny's.

Another thing he managed to reveal to me was that he was kicked off the high school football team for failing two classes. Stan loved football, it was his favorite sport, he'd played it since he was eight and even then he rocked. It sucked that he lost that. He told me once that when he was on the field, he forgot about everything else and felt carefree and happy again. It took him away from reality. In a way, I was happy for him. Yet it also brought me an empty feeling, like I wasn't helping him enough. That I could help him be happy again if I tried. But it was only a passing thought, one I never acted upon.

I'm yanked out of the depths of my mind as I see students rising and leaving, the hour's over. I leap up and race out the door. My feet take me in the direction of my locker. I had forgotten my Science notebook and I needed it to study with. My feet skidded to a stop when I saw someone in my locker. Well, the one below mine. I shared lockers with Stan, but he should've been home already... or out of school at the least.

"Stan?" I call hesitantly, not sure if it's him.

He's startled, since he falls backwards and drops whatever he was holding and looks at me fearfully, "Oh... hey Kyle. What're you doing here?"

"I had detention, remember? And I forgot a notebook." I reply, looking at him skeptically, he's still on the floor, "You need help, dude?"

"What? No, no, I'm fine. Just... just getting something." he stood up abruptly, looking far too agitated than one would expect.

I continued to stare at him, "What're you doing here still?"

"I told you, getting-"

"No, I mean, why are you still at school?" I clarify, walking closer to him and the locker.

His blue eyes never met my green ones, he looked in every direction but mine. "Ummm... I was here for tutoring..."

The response was mumbled, so I barely made it out. "Tutoring? In which subject? Algebra or Chemistry?"

I mentally kicked myself, _Stan didn't know that I knew he was failing those two subjects!_ He cast me a confused gaze, it only lasted for a second. A sad smile took it's place and he went back to grabbing whatever he needed. I looked down at my shoes, finding them extremely interesting.

"Both."

His sudden reply surprised me, I looked up and saw him standing right in front of me, "I'm failing both, as you know, and so... I'm being tutored in both of them. I've been doing this for three weeks now... Sorry I didn't tell you, I just didn't want you to worry."

"Stan, I-" I didn't know what to say, I should've apologized for snooping around and finding out, "I... I'm your best friend right?" I recieved a nod from him, "Then you can tell me anything, okay? You can't stop me from worrying, I do it more when you don't tell me what's bothering you. I don't like thinking that you don't trust me. It sucks."

He said nothing, but the smile in his eyes was all I needed as a reply. He waited for me as I retrieved my notebook and we walked home together, making plans about the weekend and starting with tonight. We made it to my front door before he looked sick and pale again, guilt was also evident in his features. I knew what was coming before he even said it.

"Wendy."

His head shot up, causing stray strands of black hair to qiver, "W-what?"

"Lemme guess," I sighed, my turn for agitation, "You have plans with Wendy. So you have no choice but to break our plans. Fine, okay. I should've known this was coming."

Despite our earlier conversation, I couldn't help but become mad and frustrated with him whenever Wendy was involved. I hated her. Mainly because she's a bitch and a slut, but also because she kept us from hanging out. Yeah, he'd come to me some nights crying about something unknown to me, he'd sleepover, but we didn't really do anything else because every free fucking minute he spent with Wendy. Even if she did dump him in fourth grade, then come back in freshman year for more. _And he fucking accepted her._

Stan looked sad again, "No, Kyle... I-"

"Just forget it Stan!" I lost a bit of my control, "But don't come crying to me again tonight! Go to your precious Wendy, she needs you more than me. And I'm sure you like her company better. So, see you later!"

I slammed the door behind me, deeply regretting what I just told him. The window was next to me, so I took a peek outside. He was still standing on my doorstep, just staring at it with that empty gaze. He was like that for ten minutes before realizing that I wasn't coming and began walking home. I closed the curtain, and whirled around to face my living room. I flopped face down on the couch, ignoring my mom who was bitching about my yelling. _Like I give a damn._


	3. Alone

Alone; Stan's POV

* * *

_He doesn't know. He doesn't know._ I had to accept this, I had to accept that it was my fault I was shut away from him. I should have have told him. _He doesn't know..._

Kyle's my best friend and he's right, I'm supposed to be able to trust him with anything! He knows more about my life than my mom, god! Why couldn't I tell him this one little thing? Wendy broke up with me three weeks ago. I don't know where he got the idea that I was going out with her when I wasn't around him or the others. I was at turtoring for most of the afternoon and then afterwards I went to Starks Pond and pondered the meaning of the slashes on my wrist. I'd go home, say hi to my mom and do my homework and hide my scars. Around nine I'd arrive at Kyle's and normally, I was too exhausted to talk or do anything. So I'd go to sleep on his floor and then awake to his voice telling me to get up. He never asked me questions. I think that's why I'd always go back. He'd never find out.

I'm regretting that now, because now I have no one to go to when I'm afraid of my own house, no one to go when I'm running from freaks who want to pound me into the ground because I stole their money, or vodka, or cigarettes, and no one to save me from myself.

I scared myself, my reflection itself was enough to give me nightmares. I hated the person I had become, but that hatred dissolved into fear. I could no longer control the urges to run a pair of scissors or kitchen knife or razor blade against my skin, breaking it and watching it bleed with sick pleasure. I couldn't control my grades, my studying dwindled as I found alcohal quite amusing. No... not me, I didn't find it amusing. It was sick. I felt as if I were separate from my body, as if I were watching me like some TV show with no control over what I was doing. My mind had just let go.

I feel my feet shuffling against the pavement as I leave his house. Unshed tears causing my eyes to glimmer in the fading sunlight. I've lost the ability to cry too... next my laughter and smile with fade into nothing.

"Why am I doing this!" I scream out, all my hatred, anger, fear, and sorrow welling up inside me. "What did I do to deserve this! Goddammit!"

My cry falls upon deaf ears, for no one is here to listen. My rage comes out and I kick the closest thing to a person right now, a tree. Tears stream down my face, but I don't feel them. A pain shoots up my leg and I cease the kicking. Instead I pick up a branch and smack the tree. It's a sharp branch.

"Why! Why! Why!" is all I can say, my mind blurry as is my vision.

Then I see red. Glancing down at the snow, a puddle of red is forming, staining it's pristine glow. Trees don't bleed. I look at my arms, two bright red gashes on each. The longer I stare, the calmer I get. I like the feeling, I don't want it to stop. Lifting the branch, I prepare to draw another red line on my canvas. Suddenly, it falls. I hear voices. They can't see me. I turn and sprint away, not even caring that I left the evidence behind. I just had to get home.

It's empty...

My house is completely empty, which is surprising. Normally Shelley is around to beat me up, but today she's out with friends drinking and crap. Good, who needs her? I hope she dies from alcohal poisoning. My mom is at one of her jobs and probably won't be back for another five hours. I'm surprised at the time, it's already five. I'd been at the pond longer than I thought.

I decided it would be best if I bandaged my wounds and then changed, my sleeves are stained crimson and are soaking. After changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I threw my clothes in the washer and then began scrubbing the blood out of my jacket. In the middle of my task, the doorbell rang. My heart flutters slightly, hoping that it's Kyle coming back to apologize. Yeah right. My heart sank when my eyes took in the person I least liked at the moment. Wendy.

"Hi Stan." she smiles, speaking with that annoying high-pitched voice of hers. How can she be so happy and normal?

I shift uncomfortably, "Oh... hey Wendy. What's up?"

"Yeah." I let her inside, "I have something important to tell you."

She gazes at me, I can feel it even if I don't look at her, "What is it?"

"We're officially over."

I fall to the ground at the sudden shock of what she said. How can we be over again? She broke up with me three weeks ago! That caused me more than enough pain! Why is she doing this to me!

"I know that three weeks ago I said we should have some time apart? Well, I've made up my mind and I don't love you. I'm sorry. But now we're officially over." she continues on, elaborating her point.

I'm crying again goddammit, "N-no... Wendy, why? Why are you doing this to me!"

"I'm sorry Stan."

She starts for the door, but I cling to the end of her coat. My tears falling down rapidly, I'm a wreck once again. For the second time today. She tries to brush me off, but I only cling tighter. I don't want to be alone.

"Why, Wendy? Why!" I sob louder this time, releasing my grip.

She's still walking away from me, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the floor. "Goodbye Stan."

_My broken figure lay crumpled on the ground.  
I watch with empty eyes as you leave me, walking through the door.  
A lump has grown in my throat, preventing me from calling you back.  
My heart has been ripped in two and left to the cold floor.  
You left me here to bleed inside, the loss of you is too much.  
What had I done wrong, I can't recall why you'd gotten bored.  
Was my love for you not enough, were we stuck in place?  
Tears threatened to spill over as my thoughts hit a chord.  
It truly was your fault, for not appreciating what we had.  
I'm dying inside as the door slams behind you.  
My sanctuary is my mind, driving my thoughts from my broken heart._

"No! No! No!" Why am I making such a big deal out of this? I hate her, yet I'm hysterical that she's finally leaving me? I don't understand!

I remembered when she said she wanted a break. It stung then, but not as much because I still had hope. I still loved her. After three weeks of not hearing from her, I knew I had been cheated. She didn't want me, she lied. I suppose hearing it directly from her, that she was bored and was sick of handleing me, was even worse than my mind telling me this. It was worse this time, because I knew I couldn't take another person leaving me. First my dad, then my mom since she's never home, football, all my jock friends, Kyle, and now Wendy again. My body is breaking and I can't stop it. However, something tells me that it's not my body... but my mind...

_You told me you wanted something new.  
Something new for you and your pathetic life.  
It never occurred to me that it was I who had gotten old.  
That you had steadily grown bored with us.  
I need someone to love, to hold.  
Though I love you, your happiness brings my pain.  
I'm dying inside as you walk down the driveway.  
My sanctuary is my mind, thoughts drifting to my broken heart._

I choke out her name as the tears continue, but she's not coming back. No one will come back. I'm alone now, and being alone is one of my greatest fears. I'm afraid of what I'll do to myself or what I'll do to others. Howcan a good little boy with a moral to almost everything become a monster who pushes people away because he doesn't want to cause them pain. Now all I feel is pain.

My friends don't care, Cartman would just laugh and call me a pussy. Kenny would make perverted cracks and talk about how sexy I look when I cry. Kyle would... Kyle would... dammit! I don't know what Kyle would do! I don't know what to do! I can't blame them if they hate me, I hate myself even. I want a comforting voice. A reassuring one saying they'll be right there to help me. I can't call my mom, she's already worried enough. That leaves one person.

"Kyle..." I whispered to myself, "I can call Kyle."

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what he'll say to me. He can't really hate me, not after all we've been through. I don't remember how I got to the phone or how I managed to dial his number. It rang twice before he picked up.

"Hello?" his voice came in clearly, bringing more tears to my eyes.

"K-kyle." my voice was hoarse, due to all the crying and screaming I'd done today.

There was a pause, then he spoke, "Who is this?"

"Kyle!" my voice cracked, sounding so unlike my own. How could he not know it was me? When the dial tone sounded, I collapsed once more. I was too tired and weak now, the bitterness and misery wasn't helping much either.

I dragged myself into the corner of my living room, pulling my body into the fetal position. I don't like being alone. My tears just won't stop, I hate being weak. Within my chest, there was an aching pain that continued on. My temple throbbed, another headache. I lost my voice, so my sobs came out in dry heaves. I panted for breath, but each inhale brought more aches and pains to me. Why was this happening to me?

_Every part of me yearns to call out for you to stay.  
A sob escapes my trembling lips, for I am now alone.  
Your silhouette through my window tells me you've gone.  
As reality sinks in, I know you're not coming back.  
Reality tells me you're gone.  
My tears now flow freely, my mind now blank.  
All that runs through it are my mistakes, the way I've failed.  
My heart is pierced and bleeding, the pain overwhelming.  
You ripped it out and watched as it trailed.  
My breath comes in gasps, I just want it to end!  
Why does God make me suffer like this? Why?_

Four sheets of paper, each with their own beautifully written message. One for my mom, I love her but I can't be a burden anymore. She'll be the first to know. Another for Kyle, he's my best friend and I need to tell him everything I couldn't on this paper. He also needs to know how much he means to me. Kenny's next, he's still one of my good friends, even if he's perverted. I wrote something for him to tell Cartman in there, I didn't want to waste paper on him. Finally, one for my dad, the sick bastard needs to hear what his now fifteen year old son thought of him. I wrote them all, not really in consciousness as I wrote them. They're still beautiful.

I left the suicide notes on the table, where my mom could find them easily. I dragged my body up the stairs, not bothering to waste the energy to walk. With me I carried my dad's old pocket knife, a present to me on my tenth birthday. It would now set me free. I gave up. I just gave up.

I didn't want to see my mom cry herself to sleep over the loss of my dad or work herself to death so I'd never see her anyway. I didn't want to fail all my classes and be pitied by others. I didn't want to lose the passion I had for football when I got kicked off the team. I didn't want to push my friends away and have them leave me. I didn't want to lose my girlfriend. I didn't want to lose my best friend. I didn't want to be alone.

With these thoughts in mind, my lifeless gaze stayed on the vein in my wrist. I didn't see it though, for I was watching myself. I watched myself plunge the sharp blade of the knife directly into the vein. The blood didn't seep out like normally, it flooded forth from my arm. I felt like vomiting at the sick sight, my skin paling and and twisted smile plastered on my face. The knife fell to my bed along with the thick crimson liquid.

_Suddenly, a realization hit me.  
To end this pain your happiness caused me, I have to die.  
The blood now pours from not my heart, but my wrists.  
The satsifaction feels so good, waves of relief flooding over.  
My eyes are swimming, my body aching, but I feel no regret.  
To death I'm simply closer.  
I'm dying inside as my blood pours out and you stop to watch.  
My sanctuary is my mind that's gone insane from loss.  
Don't forget me..._

My... sanctuary...

_I'm alone..._


	4. Keep Me From Dying

Thank you my reviewers,  
**Kenny's Lil Lover**: Yes, Stan appears to be the most stable, but when things start crumbling for him I guess his sanity slowly fades away. Yeah, I hate Wendy, I didn't even want her in my fic... yet it was required. Thank you, I believe this is one of my best poems. I so thought of Stan when writing it, so I made the fic with it. Thank you for reviewing!  
**Spice of Life**: Yes, it is sad... I'm surprised I wasn't hyseterical when writing it. Heh, well thank you for reviewing!

* * *

Keep Me From Dying; Stan's POV

* * *

Darkness consumed my being. During that time, all I thought about was how I could be thinking if I were dead. Being such a vague topic, it took a majority of my time to discover why. When I wasn't thinking about my death, I was basking in the comfort I recieved from the endless black oblivion. It was as if I were sleeping, yet conscious about every passing thought. It was my sanctuary. This was one of the only times I enjoyed being alone. Because here, there was nothing to hurt me and no one for me to hurt. It was kind of sad really since I was in a coma. 

Eventually I figured that out, took me long enough though. When I realized it was no dream for I could not wake up exactly, more like I didn't want to, and that if I were dead I'd be either burning in a damned hellhole or basking in the light of heaven. Since I was trapped in the middle, I figured someone had saved me and taken me to the hospital where I was placed in a coma. I believed this was my mom's doing. Yet I felt no pain, so as a second solution... neither hell nor heaven existed and when you died you were stuck for eternity in a big, black oblivion. Just my luck.

Without the pain, aches, and loneliness I had once felt, it seemed that I was more like my old self before high school. This comforted me some, knowing that I still possessed the humor and sarcasm I had abandoned long ago. Well, not that long ago.

As I continued to lay in the darkness, a sharp pain ran through my body. I let out a hiss that escalated into a cry. My breathing became ragged and the darkness seemed to engulf me. It was no longer comforting, but constricting, squeezing whatever life I had left outta me. I could almost feel myself be returned to my body. I writhed in pain, craving the darkness that once embraced and sheltered me from my pain. Far off voices reached my ears causing my head to pound. I wanted them to go away, so I tried to shut them out. It didn't work. White-hot pain seared through my entire body, mainly my chest and arms. I wimpered, trying to escape it all, I cried some more. A blinding white light shone on me, I closed my eyes and regained darkness. Someone told me to stay awake, but I didn't listen. I let the sweet darkness engulf me again and wash away my pain.

The next time I was aware of myself came a little while later. I'm not sure when exactly, but the pain was a fresh memory. I shuddered at the thought of reliving it again. However, if I was to awaken, then the pain was something I'd have to endure. So, I waited.

Two more attempts were made to bring me back to complete consciousness. Each time bringing with it unbearable pain. I could never hold out long enough for the doctors to see if I was okay, if I would live.

On the fourth attempt, I remember crying and screaming like before, but somehow it was different. I cried for someone, I'm not sure who, but I wanted someone there with me. Suddenly, a hand grasped mine and held it tightly, but with great care also. I knew who they were, but at the time I just didn't care. I wanted comfort and this person provided it. I felt like an infant.

The bright lights shone again, ones I knew to be hospital lights by now. Although they still blinded me, I did what they asked and kept my eyes open. I remembered my eyes still tearing up and everyone was blurry. I had no idea were I was or who these people were. My cries returned, as did fear and it's company. I felt the hand try to calm me and soothe me to the gentleprobing of another, my mom I think...

Finally, someone said I could go back to sleep, so I did gratefully. I was in such a deep sleep, that I did not feel the hand slip out of mine.

Groaning, I opened my eyes and looked around. It was dark. Fear grabbed hold of me, my thoughts drifted to the darkness I had been imprisoned to. I clung to my bedsheets and tried to subside my rapid breathing. My movements drew the attention of a nurse. Soon the darkness was gone, but the blinding light returned.

"Stanley? Stanley, can you hear me son?" a man's voice asked, I groaned in reply, shielding my eyes with my hands.

He chuckled, "Alright then, Stanley, you think you can look at us?"

I lowered my hands and opened one eye. I glowered at him before closing it again and replying hoarsely, "No."

"Well, that's good! You can talk, very good. But, Stanley-"

"Don't call me Stanley." I growled, coughing slightly and still not opening my eyes, "Call me Stan, that's my name."

I could feel the man's smile and it sent a shiver down my spine, "Well, okay then Stan. But we really need you to open your eyes. You took some serious damage back there."

"No." I replied defiantly, keeping my blue eyes shut.

The man sighed and then spoke to one of the nurses. It sounded like: 'Get his mother in here.' Dammit, these guys weren't playing fair. They didn't see me asking for their mommies did they? No, thought not. I heard the door open and close and the sound of stiletto heels on a tile floor. Then the door opened again.

"Stanley! Oh my poor baby! Are you alright?" I heard my mom exclaim, fear and sadness and relief all evident in her voice.

I opened my eyes to look at her, allowing that other guy to look at my eyes. It took awhile for my vision to focus, but once it had, I looked over my mom. Her eyes were red and puffy like she had been crying. Her hair was frazzled and disheveled, her clothes untidy, no make-up on, so basically she looked miserable.

I tried to smile for her, "H-hi mom."

"Oh, baby, don't scare me like that! What were you thinking?" she asked, tears welling in up in her eyes.

I hated seeing my mom cry, but I hated that she brought up my attempted suicide even more. "I dunno."

I accepted the fact that I had attempted suicide, but was brought to the hospital and lived instead of my original plan to just die. I had thought about what I had done and what made me do it while alone in darkness, so it didn't shock me as it first did.

"Mrs. Marsh, please don't bring up that subject while your son's in Critical Condition. It may distress him." the man told my mom.

"Fag..." I muttered under my breath, but no one heard me.

She nodded, "Oh right, yes, I'm sorry. It's just... I don't know how to deal with it." She glanced at me and gave me a smile, "And I supposes his friends can't come in either."

"I'd rather that we refrain from outside contact for the time being. He still needs to regain his strength and composure. But I'm surprised, his recovery was quite quick." he nodded, as if my being okay was his victory.

I rolled my eyes, everything was in focus now. However, I couldn't get over that it was so bright and a freakishly clean shade of ivory. I tried to shift my position, but was dismayed to find that my wrists were strapped down and various tubes were carrying liquids into my body. Shuddering at the needles, I turned to face the man and my mom again. I'm guessing the guy's a doctor, but not like I care.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask, my voice was pissing me off because it was so hoarse.

He pondered a moment, I frowned as he took his time debating my question. "You've been in a coma about five days, but since it's midnight now... I suppose around six."

_Wow, shorter than I thought,_ it's not like I tell them this. Now I just want to go back to sleep. Weariness washed over me and my eyes slipped shut. All voices around me stopped and the darkness came back again, embracing me.

"We'll be moving him to the psychiatric wing once he's settled and sedated. His body made a quick recovery while in the coma and the two days he's been conscious. We'll let his friends and family see him before we lock him up."

Worry embeded itself in my heart. _Sedated? Psychiatric Wing? Lock me up?_ I shuddered, my eyes squeezed shut as I feigned sleep. The doctors talking didn't know I was awake, or else they wouldn't be talking about my fate. _Why am I being locked up?_

Of course I knew the answer to the question, I had tried to kill myself. Simple as that, they were locking me up because I had tried to kill myself and they thought I'd be safer in solitary confinement. The bastards.

Two days had passed, but I slept through most of them. When I wasn't sleeping, they were running tests or asking me basic questions. So I'd been here a week, now I would spend an indefinate period of time in the crazy house. There I would remain locked up and be blessed with few visitors, mainly my mom and my designated therapist. I'd seen the movies, that's what would always happen. I'd be all alone in a little white room.

My blood ran cold. _Alone? I'd be alone again... Crap. They can't put me there! If they do, it'll make things worse! I won't get better by being alone! They can't do this to me!_ My eyes snapped open and darted around the room. It was empty now. I gulped, I already was by myself. I wanted to leave this horrible place, but the straps on my wrist prevented me from doing so. I was trapped.

Suddenly the door opened, revealing another doctor. I stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights, quivering slightly. He gave me a smile, I gave him the finger. Of course, he hadn't seen it.

"Alright Stan," he cleared his throat and walked over to me, "Today's the day you get to leave Critical Condition! Isn't that great?"

"That's just swell," I muttered, looking away from him.

"Well, you've made excellent progress, so you get to see your little friends." he smiled, talking to me as if I were a little kid.

I didn't reply. I felt a cruel hatred enter me as I stared at his retreating form. _I hope he gets stabbed with one of those sharp surgery knives._ Shock quickly entered me and I shook that thought away, feeling fear and exhilaration over come my fragile being as the thought of knives came to my mind. The sick smile plastered on my face as I prepared to die flashed into my mind, causing me to double over.

"Only one at a time."

The doctor's voice brought me back to reality. I regained my composure, just in time to see my best friend walk in. He looked sickeningly pale and his green eyes were without a shine, but had dark rings around them. His curly red hair peeked out from under his green hat, but had a dull tone to it. My heart dropped, the sight of him looking this way was worse than my mom.

He gave me a forced smile, "Hey, dude."

The doctor leaves, while I'm left to face the heart-wrenching image of him. "K-kyle."

My voice was still friggin' hoarse, so raspy that you wouldn't recognize my voice. I watched his eyes grow wide, tears brimming them. _He remembers when I called him._

"Stan...that... that was you? O-on the phone?" he manages to state, trying to control himself and blink away tears.

I stared him down, feeling a lump in my throat, "Yeah, it was me."

"Dude..." he choked out, clenching his fists as if it would stop his shaking, "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't know... I... I thought it was a prank call, or a wrong number. Why'd you call? When? Please tell me."

I can't see him like this, so I don't face him. "I called because I was going to die... and I couldn't stop it."

I don't sound like myself anymore. It might be because I know I'm going to be alone once more and hear myself talk like this, maybe because he brought up my near-death expirience. I don't know, but I'm scaring him. I'm hurting him. _I don't want to hurt anyone._

"I'm sorry," I heard him speak softly, "I'm sorry I told you to go away. I'm sorry I hung up on you. I-I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you! But, I am now, and Kenny too. You don't have to be alone."

_But it's too late... I already am alone..._ is what I should have said, since it was true. Instead I give him a sad, but thankful smile. I smile because I know he wants to see it. "Thank you, Kyle." I say that because he wants to hear it. But I'm lying. Deep within in me though, I just want to cling to him and cry. I want him to keep me from dying. But he can't, because eventually he'll leave me in that dark place... all alone.


	5. Knocking On Death's Door

Knocking on Death's Door; Kenny's POV

* * *

Who would've guessed? I go to Stan's house for some waffles and I find him in his room bleeding and near death. A pocket knife was next to him. Stan had attempted suicide. The gruesome sight shocked me, from the slashes on his wrists to the twisted smile on his face. He was so pale and cold, if he hadn't been breathing I would've pronounced him as good as dead. His breathing was shallow and raspy, but he was alive.

I wanted to know why he was there, on his bed and dying, but there was no time. I stumbed out of his room and to the phone. I was panicked, unnerved, and grossed out. I called 911, the his mom's work number which was on the fridge, and then Kyle. I figured that would do for now. I got his mom's voicemail and left a hysterical message. I reached Kyle, but he sounded extremely pissed off.

"Hello?" he asked bitterly and annoyance evident in his tone.

"Dude, Kyle!" I gasped, still in my crazed state, "Stan's in his room bleeding and dying! He's dying! And-and-"

I began stuttering, trying to find the words to say, when I realized Kyle had not replied. "Kyle!"

"What do you mean Stan's in his room dying!" he sounded half angry and half scared.

His tone frightened me, "I think he tried to kill himself! I don't know! But, I don't know what to do! Please get over here and help me! His address is 564 Danders' Drive."

After making the phone calls, I went back to Stan's room with some towels. I remembered something from health class about applying pressure to wounds to stop the bleeding. I wrapped the towel around his gouged wrist, pressing as hard as I could. I could only do one wrist at a time, so the other remained bleeding. I heard the front door slam and the sirens of the ambulance. Kyle skidded into the room, panting and sweaty. He fell to the floor when he saw Stan's unconscious, bleeding form.

The paramedics rushed in and lifted Stan onto a stretcher and carried him out. Kyle and I were instructed to follow them and get in the ambulance with our friend. Since Kyle was basically nonresponsive, I had to help him out of the house and into the back of the truck.

We were interrogated, they wanted to know our relationship to Stan. I replied that we were his friends, adding that Kyle was his best friend. They wanted to know where his parents were.

"His mom's at work and his dad ran off a couple years ago." I replied with Kyle nodding blankly.

They wanted to know what drove him to his current state.

"We... we don't know..." Kyle told them sadly, his eyes showing his disbelief at the moment.

There were no more questions asked of us. When we reached the hospital, Stan was rushed to the ER so he could get stitches and a blood transplant. I was the same blood type as him, so was Kyle, so we both donated a pint of blood to him. He'd need it. We were left in the waiting room, me pacing and Kyle staring at the floor. I don't remember how long we had been there before Stan's mom burst in the room looking hysterical and afraid. When she spotted us both, she collapsed into tears. One of the doctors eventually helped her, but I was too antsy and Kyle too stunned. Then we waited some more.

Stan and I had never been close, not like him and Kyle, but he was my friend. Occasionally he'd give me some extra food to help me out at lunch, or come by my house to drop off a dinner his mom cooked for us. When he fell into poverty, I helped him out by showing him how to ration things and gave them some of our food when they needed it. He'd done that for me, so I payed him back. Lately we haven't hung out as much, even if he lived across the street. At school I hung out with Eric or my girlfriend of the week, rarely spending time with Stan and Kyle. Normally it was just at lunch. My fear of losing him surprised me, as I thought about it later on, but I did care for him. Once we had been good friends and I wanted to believe we still were. I never could've imagined him knocking on death's door and leaving us. He wasn't that kinda guy.

Stan was the voice of reason among us on occasion, always looking at things from various directions and trying to find another solution. Why hadn't he done that here? Surely there was another solution other than suicide! He could've told us, or gotten help, or fight against the urge to die. He always was a fighter. But not this time, Stan took the easy way out this time, the coward's way.

I should've known something was wrong with him, he seemed so tired and sad when we walked to class after the outburst of Kyle and Eric.

_"Kenny?" his voice was weak and his eyes were empty, "Do you ever feel... alone?"_

_I arched an eyebrow, though I'm sure he couldn't see due to my hood, "What do you mean by alone?"_

_"Like, when all you can hear is your own heart pounding and the voice in the back of your head and your steady breathing. And even though there are others around you, all you feel is dark and cold."_

_I thought about what he said. Stan could be really poetic, no wonder why his only grade was in English. "Well, no not really. When I'm by myself sometimes, but never around other people." I turned to face him, "Why?"_

_"No reason." was his reply and we dropped the subject._

Something was definately wrong with him, but I didn't even give it a passing thought. Pff... some friend I am. Kyle must be feeling worse though. I glanced at him, he still looked dazed. I wondered what he was thinking. My gaze left him when the doctor came to us. He addressed Stan's mom, but I still listened and I think Kyle did too.

"He's stabalized."

Stan's mom sighed in relief, but tears still streamed down her cheeks. Kyle lifted his head, the glazed look leaving him. As for me? I couldn't help but smile at the news. Stan had doorbell ditched.


	6. Stone Eyes

Thank you my reviewers,

Spice of Life: Yeah, Stan's just a little too preoccupied at the fear of being alone to take people's feelings into consideration. Even Kyle's! But maybe some isolation would give him time to reflect... Well, we'll see! Thanks for the review!

total misanthrope: Guns n' Roses! Whooo! Heh, yeah, that was kinda done on purpose I just couldn't resist, the title was too appealing. Well, thank you for the review and please continue reading!

Deidre Sage: Thank you, I'm quite proud of myself. Please continue reading the next additions and thanks again for the review!

* * *

Stone Eyes; Kyle's POV

* * *

Those eyes; those cold, lifeless, dull-tinged eyes. Stone eyes...

How could someone who had once been full of life suddenly become nothing more than a limp doll? One with clouded, tone eyes, ghostly pale skin, and no regard of life whatsoever. It struck me speechless.

My tongue was heavy, thick, and unable to allow my voice to pass my lips. Everything grew blurry and all the sound seemed to be sucked away. Murmurs could be heard, but my attention was focused upon the still body of my best friend. The one I had pushed away.

Guilt was the heaviest emotion I felt, burdening me with such force that I could almost feel the pain seep in from it. I should've noticed the signs when they worsened. It shouldn't have come to this. _Why hadn't I stayed with him? How could I have allowed such an even to take place?_ Anger, fear, misery, guilt, and anxiety coursed through my body now, filling each of my senses as I was yanked back into reality. The pale blue eyes of Kenny met with concern, his body was being carted away.

I wanted to scream out 'No!', but it came out a whisper. Kenny wrapped his arms around me in an attempt to me as well as himself, then led me from the room of my best friend, the one I had never seen until that day. A grim realization dawned on me as I gazed back at Stan's house; his was much worse then Kenny's. Although they looked exactly the same, the feeling that was emitted from it was far worse than anyone could hope to imagine.

I don't remember much of the ambulence ride, but there were questions and Kenny answered most of them. Out of the two of us, he was the most sane and stable at the moment. I found myself nodding occasionally, not really sure what I was agreeing to, but I did answer one question. The one on why Stan attempted suicide. Honestly... I wasn't entirely sure myself, so that's how I answered.

Ha, attempted suicide... what a reasurring way of saying that my best friend had wanted to kill himself, tried to kill himself, and might've succeeded in killing himself. It was also a way saying there was still hope. Deep down, I wanted to believe that...

I played with the colored bandaid on my arm, I can't remember what color mine was exactly... but Kenny's was red, bright red like the blood that now drenched the bed of Stan Marsh. We had been blood donors for him, a pint from both of us for him.

When Stan's mom entered, I had been sitting on a chair and staring at my bandaid, my mind replaying the events of that day over and over again. _Where had I gone wrong?_ Kenny had been pacing, he did that when he was nervous. For a brief moment, I hated Kenny. He had been so calm once I arrived and had been the one to find Stan and get him help. He had also been with Stan when Cartman and I fought. What if Stan had told Kenny what he had been planning? What if he had been an accomplice in this act? What if Kenny had killed Stan? Okay... now I was getting irrational. I still hated him for being here, Stan wasn't his best friend. He had no right.

I couldn't sleep, eat, or go home no matter how much Mrs. Marsh begged me to, I demanded to stay to know what was going to happen to him. I think my determination inspired her and a ghost of a smile flickered onto her face as she pulled me into a comforting embrace. Out of the corner of my eyes, I had seen Kenny look on happily... yet worry still evident in his features.

We didn't recieve news on Stan's condition until well after midnight, I had lost track of the time, but I was never more relieved in my life to here those two words...

"He's stabalized."

I wanted to laugh, cry, cheer, yell, scream, sob, but more importantly... see my best friend. At the moment, only relief and warmth flooded my features, melting the iced look I knew I held. Mrs. Marsh cried more, but also out of relief. Kenny beamed, his hood down and laughter ringing in his eyes. His gaze met mine and he hugged me once more. I felt the hatred I felt for him moments ago vanish, he was once again my friend and I cared for him again. It wasn't until I felt his body shake with sobs that I completely melted into my old self. My own tears joined with the two others here, releasing me from my prison of ice.

He didn't show signs of improvement for four days, Stan had stabalized but was still in a coma. I wasn't allowed to see him either which pissed both me and Kenny off. Despite that, we both showed up in the waiting room everyday, recieving information from Mrs. Marsh every hour on how Stan was.

My parents had been mad at me for not coming that night, but when Mrs. Marsh explained, they apologized to me profusely and tried to make me as comfortable as possible. This included me going to the hospital every afternoon after school and coming home at curfue. Kenny managed to simply avoid his parents altogether.

On the fourth night, they began attempting on bringing Stan back. "They've tried three times," Mrs. Marsh told us sadly, "But he keeps slipping away..."

It was a Friday night, so my parents had allowed me to stay as late as I could, which was all night thanks to Mrs. Marsh. Kenny too. We stayed up talking, reading, drinking coffee, and just thinking, but Kenny fell asleep around two in the morning. Around three, Mrs. Marsh had ran into the waiting room, looking out of breath and frazzled.

"Mrs. Marsh!" I exclaimed, jumping up, "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

She nodded wildly, "He's coming around, but he keeps slipping back into unconsciousness. I think he's aware of his surroundings now, though. He's calling for you."

My surprised expression didn't get past her, soon I found myself being dragged down the hall with her rambling about having permission from the doctors. As we got closer, I could hear Stan agonized screams and sobs and they tore me apart. He sounded so scared and weak, not anything like the Stan I knew.

When I entered, I was instructed to hold his hand and reassure him that everything was alright. I did so. I knelt beside his bed, taking in his tear-stained face which now had color once again, flushed from the the effort and pain. I clasped his trembling hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Stan... Stan, it's okay. I'm here. It's okay." I murmured comfortingly, hoping to soothe him.

His wild thrashing seemed to calm down, his breathing trying to become even once more. "Kyle...?"

"Yeah... it's me, Kyle." I smiled sadly, "I'm right here."

Stan became calm, his eyelids fluttering, but still closed. His heart rate slowed considerably, his breathing as well. Tears continued to stream from his closed lids, his lower lip trembling, his face resuming a normal tone. Suddenly, his eyes flashed open, his pupils dialating to the sudden coming of light. More crying ensued.

"Keep your eyes open, Stanley." one doctor commanded, the navy-eyed boy doing so, but began thrashing.

A second doctor glared at me, "Continue to calm him down!"

"Please Kyle," Mrs. Marsh begged, "Let him know you're here."

I turned to Stan again, who was whimpering, "Don't leave me!" was all I made out.

"Shhh..." I began speaking again, "It's okay, I won't leave you. I promise. You don't have to be alone."

Soon, he ceased his thrashing and reacted as a small child would to comfort, he released a content sigh. His eyes stayed open, but were unfocused. It shocked me at how something as simple as my saying "It's okay." would make this much of a difference.

"Alright, Stanley," a doctor spoke now, "You can go back to sleep now."

A relieved sigh escaped his lips this time and I watched sadly as my best friend returned to the darkness waiting for him. Once he was asleep, the doctors informed me that I could leave. However, everytime I tried, Stan would cry out and cling to my withdrawing hand. So it was decided that I stay with him until further testing was required. Satisfied with their decision, I fell prey to sleep soon after.

I didn't get much sleep that night, someone had ushered me out of the room, waking me up in the process. Once awake I couldn't return to my dream haven, only recieving around four hours of sleep and leaving me irritable. Kenny had already been awake when I returned to the waiting room.

"Dude," he tilted his head o the side in curiosity, "Where were you?"

I yawned, "Stan's room... apparently I was needed for something, kept me there all night."

"You look tired, what exactly did they do?" he inquired.

Another yawn escaped me, "Hell yeah, I'm tired. They needed me to provide Stan with reassurence. They got him to wake up from his coma."

"Really? That's awesome! Lets go visit him!" Kenny was clearly excited by this news.

"I'm sorry boys, but you can't yet."

The two of us, turned to face the owner of the voice. It was Mrs. Marsh, who was smiling slightly yet with her forehead creased in worry. Kenny inquired as to why and I would've too, if I hadn't been yawning at the time.

She replied, "Stan's still in Critical Condition, no visitors except immdiate family are permitted. Kyle was an unusual exception last night. But, if he progresses well, you two should be able to see him again in a few days."

Thus beginning my three day wait on seeing my best friend's face with him staring back.

We had no school on Monday, the day Stan was allowed visitors, so Kenny and I wasted no time in getting to the hospital. We hadn't been since Saturday morning, Mrs. Marsh promising to call us if Stan's condition changed, for better or worse. She had already been talking with Stan and sitting with it, so when he was allowed visitors I was first to go.

Excitement and hesitation filled me as the doctor led me down the hall and into Stan's room. He was sitting up in bed, propped up by three pillows. Dark circles were under his eyes which had a shine to them, though his skin had paled considerably once again. His ebony tinged hair was carelessly tossed this way and that, his blue and red toque was on the nightstand beside his bed. He was a mess, both physically and emotionally.

Apparently, he's shocked at the sight of me, so I break the ice. "Hey, dude." I tried to sound casual.

I heard the door close behind me and footsteps down the hall, Stan stared at me, taking in my form. "K-kyle."

His voice was so hoarse and raspy, it reminded me of why I had been pissed off at Kenny when he called abut Stan. I had assumed it was a prank call...

_"Hello?" I answered the phone, still regretting on how I treated Stan._

_A voice unknown to me replied, "K-kyle?"_

_It scared me, I didn't know this person, I glared at the phone before replying, "Who is this?"_

_"Kyle!" The voice began sobbing, it was hysterical, so I immediately hung up. It was probably a gay prank call from Cartman... yeah, that's what it was._

"Stan... that..." I didn't know what to say, that voice was too familiar, "That was you? O-on the phone?"

Before he got out the answer, I was in tears, already aware of the answer and beating myself up about it. _How could i have done something like that? How! I hung up on my best friend right before he tried to kill himself! How was that supposed to make him feel!_

"Dude..." I choked out through my tears, shaking uncontrolably, "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't know... I... I thought it was a prank call, or a wrong number. Why'd you call? When? Please tell me."

"I called because I was going to die... and I couldn't stop it."

His emotionless answer brings me even closer to losing control and allowing my sobs to take over. I'm hurting him by crying, but right now I can only hate myself. _Some best friend I am._

"I'm sorry I told you to go away. I'm sorry I hung up on you. I-I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you! But, I am now, and Kenny too. You don't have to be alone." I whispered, edging closer to his bed, where I had been a few nights ago. I wanted to help him.

The look on his face tells me he doesn't believe me. His eyes are cold once more, his lip quivering, he was deep in thought. The conflicted emotions spread on his face reveal an inner debate. Soon a fake smile replaces it. "Thank you, Kyle." I don't believe him now, but I won't tell him that. I don't have the heart.

Instead I smile back, my tears slowly stopping as I gain control. "No problem. Hey, you'll be outta here soon, so how about we go to Casa Bonita to celebrate and then have a sleepover at my place once you're better? Just me, you, and Kenny."

"Yeah, okay... Sounds good." he replies, looking more like the old Stan again.

We chat a while longer, though it's awkward in the beginning, we gradually become comfortable with each other. I inform him on school, life, and fatass. He laughs and comments on various things. We manage to crack a few lame jokes before it's Kenny's turn, I don't want to leave him though.

Fear enters his eyes at the mention of me leaving, "I don't wanna be alone." he whispers distantly, only I'm close enough to hear him.

"It's okay dude." I gave him a reassuring embrace before leaving, "I'll come back soon, I promise!"

He nods slightly, still clutching my jacket before his eyes are drawn to my arm, then he asked me concerned, "Why do you have a bandaid?"

I glanced down at it, "Oh, just a blood donation, no problem. Well, I'll be seeing you later Stan!"

"Bye Kyle."

I passed by Kenny, giving him a wave and nod before returning to the waiting room. Once I'm there, I inspect the bandaid closer. It's color it clear to me now. It's stone gray, like his eyes that night...

Shaking my head, ridding myself of the thought, I waited for Kenny's return. He was given an hour as I was, but the time seemed to just drag on. He returned, looking half concerned and half happy. Stan's behavior had puzzled him as well. We compared our visits, and were halfway through Kenny's when a scream echoed through the halls. It was Stan.

We both leapt up and sped down the hall. The room was entered just in time to see Stan screaming and sobbing hysterically, a sedative being pressed into his arm to calm him down.

"I don't wanna be alone!" he sobbed, thrashing angrily, "I don't wanna be alone! I don't wanna be alone..."

His fit quieted as the sedative took effect. Someone muttered about getting us out of the room, another about the phsychiatric ward. It then clicked. Stan's new room would be in the phsyciatric ward for corrective isolation. That's what he meant about being alone.

"No! You can't do that to him!" I shouted, Kenny protesting along with me. "It'll only make things worse!"

"Sorry kids." a male nurse told us, ushering us away from the quiet cries of my best friend as he was wheeled down the hall to the place he feared most. And I could do nothing to stop it...


End file.
